


Through a Cloud of Ash and Smoke

by hannibae (xstarxchaserx)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Day in the Life of Two Idiots in Love, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Baking, Blow Jobs, Breakfast, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming, Sex, Tea, followed by, raunchy sex, relationship backstory, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xstarxchaserx/pseuds/hannibae
Summary: Everyone has their way of coping with stress and anxiety. Draco likes to bake, crafting delicious, patisserie-worthy treats for he and his husband to enjoy. Harry, on the other hand, likes smudging the edges of Draco’s perfection, making him as much of a mess as Harry feels.They both enjoy the clean up, after.An HD OwlPost 2019 gift for Anokaba
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 193
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	Through a Cloud of Ash and Smoke

_I will never apologize for all this love I have to give. _  
**— Courtney Peppernell, “Pillow Thoughts II” **

Draco stood in the kitchen, putting the last touches on his latest baking adventure. He had always loved to bake, often sneaking into the kitchens to watch the house elves as they worked. His mother demanded perfection from them, wanting spot-on reproductions of the beautiful French patisserie that filled the glass cases along the Rue du Bac in Paris. Draco had been fascinated by the clean lines and lusciousness of them, and he took pleasure in trying to replicate them himself. 

As he got older, the time he could dedicate to baking became less and less. His nights were filled with homework, his holidays with fear and the unknown future that loomed over everything. He picked it up again after the war, taking advantage of the year of house arrest. He’d disappear into the kitchen of his new flat between his studies and achieving the perfect NEWT scores he so desperately wanted. There was nothing like celebrating with a perfect tarte aux citrons, except maybe for the added bonus that it helped with his anxiety. When he began working at the Ministry, he would bake loaves of bread and cakes for his coworkers, who became friends that spoke highly of his baking ability to the other departments. 

That was how he was reintroduced to Harry. A friend of a friend was having a birthday in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Draco was asked to make a cake for her. Rich chocolate and decadent ganache through and through, it was a hit, and after Harry loudly proclaimed that he would marry whoever made it, the rest was history. 

(It started with coffee, but they did end up married in the end.)

Now, Draco baked almost exclusively for Harry. Their schedules didn’t allow for a ton of leisure time, so each creation was special. It wasn’t long before baking moved from a way to show off for his partner into a way to relieve stress yet again. After all, dating the saviour of the Wizarding world was nothing short of terrifying. Whenever Harry was off at night on some mission, Draco would be in the kitchen until he returned. Nights like tonight. 

The _whoosh_ of the floo signaled Harry’s return, and Draco was so grateful, his knees almost gave out. He stayed where he was, though. He’d grown used to Harry’s moods over the years. After a rough case, he either disappeared upstairs to lose himself under the hot spray of the shower, or —. 

Strong arms circled Draco’s waist, just as the smell of smoke enveloped him. 

_One of those nights, then._

Draco understood the logic behind it, of course. On a case where things went out of control (or any time memories of how his entire life and death were planned for him since he was a babe came rushing back to the surface), Harry liked to yank the bridle back to himself. Draco, for all the years he spent trying to keep up appearances, regimented like the good little soldier his father wanted him to be, liked the chance to let go. 

Which was why, when Harry moved a hand from his waist up, up to grab a handful of his hair and tug, the moan that fell out of Draco’s mouth was more than pleased consent. It was enthusiastic consent, and Harry ran with it. 

The initial preparation was rough. His trousers and pants were quickly pushed to his knees, conjured lubricant barely easing the way for Harry’s fingers to press and press inside of him. It was even less of a help when the blunt head of Harry’s cock split him open. The ache of it spread through Draco’s body, threatening to pull him under the tidal wave of Harry’s thrusts, but it was over before his orgasm hit. 

He whined when Harry pulled out, whined again at the feeling of Harry’s cum dripping from his hole, and under any other circumstances, he would have been mortified at his actions. 

But Harry, bless him, just pulled him close and apparated them up to their bedroom. Draco barely noticed his sudden lack of clothing before he was pushed face first onto the bed. 

“Damn it, Harry, _please._”

That was all it took before Harry swiped his tongue from Draco’s balls to the base of his spine and back down again, lapping up the last of his cum and fucking Draco’s still open hole with his tongue. Draco clawed at the pillows as he pressed himself back, seeking purchase, seeking friction, anything to push him over the edge. When Harry moved to place biting kisses up Draco’s spine, he almost cursed.

Which was exactly when Harry chose to press three fingers inside of him. 

His orgasm wasn’t sharp. It didn’t come out of nowhere, knocking the breath out of him. It built like a bonfire, embers and smoke until the sting of Harry’s teeth to his neck sent him into a blaze that leveled every thought he ever had save one:

_‘He’s safe. He’s home and he’s safe and he’s mine.’_

.  
..  
.

Draco must have fallen asleep after, but when he woke, disoriented and sore, Harry was still there, wrapped around him. 

“Awake, love?” Harry asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“Coffee?” 

“That depends entirely on what time it is.”

“It’s 8:30.” 

“Blergh, I slept in,” Draco grumbled into the pillow. 

“You did, but it’s a Saturday, so it doesn’t matter. Coffee?” 

“Yes, please. And I made a treacle tart.”

“You want treacle tart at 8:30 in the morning? In bed?” 

“You don’t?”

Harry paused for a beat, “You’ve got me there. You know what I want more than treacle tart, though?”

“Hm?”

“You. Again.”

“It’s 8:30 in the morning, and you’re thinking of getting laid? Again?”

“You aren’t?”

It was Draco’s turn to pause a beat. 

“You’ve got me there.”


End file.
